Just Cuz!

Yes, that's a SNIPE, or at least my own colored pencil, and help from PHOTO SHOP, rendition of a SNIPE.

But let me get to back to that.

Suggestion?  If you haven't yet?  Go back and read my previous posting. In summary it's about my self imposed 60 mile bike ride. Many of you have chided me for performing such an irresponsible feat considering the number of candles on my birthday cake.

The highest chiding rating goes to my cousin Errol. I won't paraphrase. Here is his entire comment unblemished, save some minor punctuation issues.

"Surely you jest.  Or do you prefer that I not call you Shirley! Does the name Jim Fixx mean anything to you. * Here's an interesting phrase, Orthostatic Hypotension. Or, how about this: Cardiac Infarction?  Regards, Cuz E. " **

* Long distance runner Jim Fixx died of that "infarction" thing trying to prove long distance running was good for you.

** Cuz E is an accepted abbreviated form of Cousin Errol.

(For the record both my cardiologist and my primary care shaman say bike riding is good for me, albiet I may have overdone it.)

Errol and I have had some really fun "tete a tete" banter over the years.  And the thing is? I shouldn't even like the guy.

This needs some background. Errol and I were born about two miles from each other just southeast of Los Angeles.  But Errol's family? They move back to Kansas and ultimately settle in this place named Tribune? It's a dry dusty place. There arn't many zeroes on the population sign, if you know what I mean.

Errol is about two years older than me, which means he was age 10 when at age 8, my family visited his in Tribune?

You know how when you are a city kid in the country? You get stupid and say to your cousins, " gosh, what do you guys do here for fun?"

Well, for the unitiated?  You wait until dusk?  And you go SNIPE hunting.

"Cool! How do you it?"

"Okay, Paul.  Since you're an honored guest? We are going to let YOU do the most important job.  Now take this gunny sack, open it up and wait at the top of that hill.  We're going go out in the corn field here, and make a bunch of noise so the Snipe will run right in your direction.  Then you just grab 'em and put 'em in the gunny sack. ***  But be careful, they BITE."

*** Gunny sack is a large burlap bag capable of holding just about anything, including SNIPE.

 

Well, I'm the only one that did any biting.  It was my loss of innocence. Lots of corn rattling, and Errol and his friends shouting, "Heyah Snipe...hey snipe....hey snipe..."  Funny I couldn't hear the snikering that accompanied their sham.

Well if you're a cosmopolitan type? Going to visit Cousin Errol? Here's a few things you need to know.

A snipe is a real bird. It's favorite breeding grounds? Nome, Alaska, and Heber, Utah.  It's migratory fowl. And it's primary eco-habitat?  The snipe has a long beak, and likes to take quiet walks in "marshes, bogs, and wet meadows."

For the uninitiated? There are no bogs in Tribune, Kansas.

"Oh, wait! There's Mary Bogs, isn't there?  She lives over there on First Street, behind the Dairy Queen?"

This has been fun.  But you know what?  Knowing Errol, I'm going to pay for this.

Geared Up!

Yeah, I know what I said.  No Helmet. Well, here's the deal.   I'm  on a bike path? I'm going down a steep grade at a pretty good clip?  I know I have to break.  Since I know I'm going to have to go right back up again?  I know I need to shift gears quick, too. Then I notice I'm also going to have to make a 90 degree turn at the bottom and cross a small stream.  Well, it is just too much for this aging brain to sort out. The bike goes one way and I go the other.  Somehow I do land on my feet.  But I figure I was lucky. So I got the helmet.

Yeah those are cycling shorts.  Look, while I was getting the helmet the guy says we got a sale on shorts? I'm thinking about the padding?  I look over at Peggy?

"As long as you wear a long shirt on the outside, I think you'll be okay."

So, I dress the part?  Got to play the part!  Hang on, we're going for a ride:

"Down hill...drainage....woman walks dog....kid jumps dirt hill on bike...traffic...light....open space...creek...view of backyards (naughty, naughty)...highway...noise....junk pile....tunnel just for bikes....water break....big long down hill run...backside of stores....Nordstrum Rack....note to dumpster dive....Costco...note not to dumpster dive.....sweaty truck drivers unloading...employees smoking behind semi.....Crispy Creme....better not stop...better not come back this way.....surprise wetland....huge magpies...near radio and microwave towers...MUTATIONS....maybe..."ON YOUR LEFT!".....must pay attention....prarie dogs two feet away...one pair mating...(that's a first)...on to canal...no water in it....into state park...dog training area....leashless dog area...wonder how that works out...porta potty, water fountain...whew...dam....reverse...river greenway....big houses...hovels...bike paths no descrimination....private golf club: NO TRESSPASSING....wooden bridge....geese and ducks....OH, GOD HELP US. THERE IS A TRAFFIC CIRCLE IN THE BIKE PATH....public golf course....no kidding...a sign that says: Cyclists Welcome. Stop in and Get Some Water......Huge brick factory....power plant....(bigger than I remembered)....rafters.....two HUGE CORMORANTS...don't see any microwave towers....homeless man in cardboard tent under bridge...light rain....Children's Museum...rain heavier now...head wind...feels like gale force..Aquarium..shelter...eat my orange...listen to hundreds of different sounds at amusement park...back  in saddle...confluence with creek...head up creek...up hillhome...that says....fatiqued...rain lets up....backside of shopping center....drinking cold beer right in front of me....lightning, thunder....don't get under tree....instead...I'm riding in the storm under a long stretch of power lines....rain lets....up...get lost in golf course...can't find trail to reservoir...find trail to reservoir....spikey pedals...have my calf bleeding...woman behind me with her kids....offers me her lone bandaid....I'll tough it....into reservoir and state park....map makes no sense....I go by seat of pants...herd of mule deer...just feet away....fawn gets confused and starts following me......really pouring...now...I'm soaked...don't remember where porta potties are....find bike path...it ends..and must ride on sidewalk...(Is that legal)....tresspass through development to get back on bike path...very fatiqued...older woman on power walk....passes me up......get close to hill up to rec...center...break down and walk bike up hill....see live truck at rec center from FOX...station...think I'll go see if I know anybody....it has its mast down...and runs away like I'm to be avoided at all costs....back on bike...cross busy intersection...get on final path...less than a mile now...home....no need to say....HI or ON YOUR LEFT....I can't pass tortoise...at this pace...last two blocks up hill....get off and walk bike up first block....back on bike for last block to save face...find garage door opener....get in house....COLLAPSE...YOU JUST COMPLETED AN 8 HOUR 60 MILE BIKE RIDE THE EASY WAY.

Even though I now look the part?  Not a single invitation to a Cyclist's Picnic.

"Smile....you're on...."

I'm guessing there is a little bit of "JERK" in all of us.  And I sense my portion is about to surface.   But you need to know, in my mind?  It's justifiable Jerkiside.

Now I've been sorta documenting this highway they are building behind my house?  Mostly I'm doing it because I can.  So here I am with a window open up stairs?  I'm just cranking off frame after frame of more and more Bullydozers.

So I'm having my fun and all of a sudden this official looking white van pulls right into my shot.  You do that?  Your image is captured. And you are fair game.  This whole incident might have ended right on the spot....But.....?

As the van is driving away?  The guy riding shot gun espies me in the window and orders the driver to throw it in reverse.  This officious looking passenger gets this "gnarly" expression on as the van is retracing it's progress?  He's ready to confront me, ready to fight?  But when push comes to shove? He can't meet me EYE to EYE. But he keeps that "grimace a goin'!' I should probably LET myself be intimidated once in a while to keep the peace.  But I don't think so! Certainly not in this case.

I can tell by looking at the logo on the van? He probably works for county public works.  ( I wouldn't, however, put it past the HOA committee to dress up like public work's officials.)

Regardless, what is this guy's NOSE doing in my backyard? I'm glad I had my underwear on.

The whole reason I'm telling you all this is to prepare you for my JERKICIDE.  I BESEECH YOU AT THIS MOMENT TO LOOK AT PICTURE NUMBER TWO (2).

Timing is everything. This guy gets his face in my lens just as I'm discovering the DISTORT function in Photo Shop. I feel no shame. I do not feel childish.  He needs to know there are consequences for acting tough and NOSY.  I, in fact, encourage him to do the same to me while I'm peeking into his backyard.  

Okay, now back to MR. NICE GUY!

  

"Kickin' Up Dust!"

When student Jeff Rood asks me,  "how's the construction project  going? 

He follows that up with, "How close are they (The Bullydozers) to your house?"

What better example of "a picture is worth a thousand words," eh?

A couple of things relative to the project?  When the Bullydozers go to bed for the night?  You know these huge mounds of dirt they are piling up ?  I'm delighted to report they've become giant playgrounds for the kids in the neighborhood.   Just some good old fashioned rolling around in the stuff. We're talking "Tide Commercials" here!  They're building up little jumps for their bikes and battery powered HOGS. And here I thought the next generation was doomed to cyber existence.

One other thing.  I'm no longer mesmerized by the back and forth action of the Bullydozers.  That's because they are laying down dust layers on my deck at about a quarter of an inch a day. Pretty soon we'll have to be wearing breathing masks to sit in our backyards.

But that's not the worst of it.  I now have no good place to get into the lotus position and meditate. All forms of meditation require deep breathing.  And I'm having to do a load of shorts now every day to keep up. 

So, if you see me, and I'm a little cranky? Don't take it personally. Unless you happen to make a living driving a Bullydozer.

"My Fortune Cookie says....."

One of my new students (that sounds too possessive, but I don't know a better way to reference him) Jeff Rood, is checking in here once in a while. I know that because? In class today, he says, "how's the construction project going"

"Funny you should ask," says I.

The Bullydozers, 20 of them show up at 6:30 every AM. They race back and forth, over a mile and a half distance, at a minimum of 40 miles an hour. They do it all day long.

That's except for the five minutes just prior to five PM, quitting time. At that point I think their tachometers are maxed and they are likely hitting close to 60.

As mesmerizing as that can be? It is not as mind boggling at the amount of dirt they've moved.  It's clear to me now why they call them EARTH MOVERS.

And that got me to thinkin? As a kid, digging in the dirt for no good reason?  Mom or Dad or some other adult would pass by and say (come on baby boomers, you know what they say!), " You keep that up and you're going to end up in China."

Well I don't know if I've questioned it before? But I am now! CHINA?

So I go over to the globe. If you start in Denver?  And just follow the lattitude and longitude reference lines?  ( you'll be digging at an angle I think if you do that.)

You get close to China, but mainly you'll come out close to Tibet, Pakistan or India.

If you take all of the U.S.?  Using the same coordinate procedure? You'd mostly re-surface in India.

But now here I am in the sandbox digging straight down and it's pretty clear I'm going to pop up somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere.  Where?

Right in the middle of the Indian ocean, about a thousand miles from the Australian West Coast, and not that far from Antarctica. Fascinating stuff, huh!

Peggy is flying to L.A. tommorrow? She is fretting over all the new security procedures, and what she can and cannot take. As she will occasionally do? She asks ME what she can take on board? She knows I've not a scintilla of intellegence in that field. I think the query fits into someone's definition of a rhetorical question?

She never learns, though.  With me the response is typically some wisecrack? Yeah, I am true to form.

But this time? Instead of the blow to the tricep and the ensuing bruise?

She laughs hysterically.  Well close to hysteria.  That's the only reason I'm bringing this up.  I want it on the record.  And if she thinks my retort is funny? You're going to be rolling on the floor.

With less than a seconds thought? I'm saying, "Your shoes can go, but you can't."

Oh, come on.  It isn't THAT funny.

I don't think there is even an Island in that part of the Indian  Ocean.  Who will you talk to when you get there? That conversational Mandarin Chinese course we took?  All for naught! 

Engage Brain

"West Classroom? But this is South? Why don't they name these buildings lefts and rights?"

Well we're all "back in our places with bright shiny faces."

If someone says to you, "Oh, the first day is so much fun!"

Immediately test their credibility.  Get some ID.  My first guess is they are working for some special interest group trying to line up "patsies" for some market study.

Unless somebody is "tweaking" numbers to get more financial support? Some 30 thousand students arrive at this campus today.

The parking lots are full, there is no place to sit and eat your lunch.

( I curl up next to a tree trunk, and share my tuna sandwich with a squirrel.)

There are classes with rosters of eighty assigned to classrooms meant for 20, and vice versa.

(That's not a complaint on my part. My classrooms are perfect. I want to publicly heap praise on my supervisor Kevin Campbell and anyone else responsible for making that happen.)  (For the first time ever? Everything in my first classroom WORKS! It really is a SMART classroom.)

And you know what? In my first class session of the year?  Only two students fail to find the right room.  And it is an INTRO class?

I don't want to say it's FUN ( even though it is) to watch a large percentage of us, students and faculty, test the limits of sartorial taste.  

"Where did you get that ELBOW RING!"

You miss something if you don't get out into a "high traffic" area and watch first year males try to cozy up to first year females. (Oh, you can tell.)

"Do you know how I can find the bookstore."

"No!"

"Well, then, can I walk you to class?"

"No!"

"Oh!"  

That's not quite FUN to watch. It would be if it weren't so full of painful memories. (Been there, done that!)

Well I don't want to use up all my observation material on DAY ONE. And Listen...just 'cause' I've got this big grin on?  Doesn't mean I'm having FUN.  I'm miserable just like the rest of you, heh, heh, heh.

Tell you what I'll do?  I usually do this on day one more to soothe my own angst, than yours.  But since, let's face it, I'm on the verge of having fun? I'm going to delay showing my tapes of local TV bloopers until day two.

You Play With Your Feet?

What a sports day. In between watching Tiger take the PGA lead, two semi-final matches in  the U.S. Open series in Cincinatti (Way To Go Andy), and the Broncos blistering of the Titans?  I work in a 20 mile bike ride. About the only non-athletic part of my day is a trip to the bank.  Or so I think.

At the bank (which will remain anonymous for security reasons) is a TV moment that will produce an Emmy should a camera  be rolling.

As Peggy and I are standing in line waiting to make a deposit, I look over? In the next window is  All-Pro Denver Bronco wide receiver Rod Smith. He is trying to get some help getting to his safe deposit box. ( I know that's what he's up to 'cause I'd been through the maze myself a few times.)

The TV moment? The teller (a male) is dumbstruck.  His jaw is down to his collar  bone, and he is speechless. Rod is very politely trying to communicate with this stuned fan.  Soon a supervisor (a mature female) arrives to save the day.  She takes a look at her suffering underling, and then to Rod.

"What can I do for you sir?"

"I'd like to get into my safe deposit box."

"Certainly sir.  And may I have you name?"

"Rod Smith."

The mute teller now has his tongue hanging out? His palm is stretched towards Rod hoping the Superstar will shake his trembling appendage.

The supervisor is puzzled.

"May I have your name again sir?"

"Rod, Rodney Smith."

 Rod ultimately shakes the tellers hand.

"Oh, thank you Rod.  So cool to meet you.  Good luck tonight."

"Thanks."

The supervisor is not getting it.

"Mr. Smith I'm afraid we'll need to see some ID."

( Never on that level, but I have to tell you SOMETIMES it is just nice NOT to be recognized.)

Well Rod and the Supervisor disappear into the basement where the Safe Deposit Boxes are kept.  And my imagination kicks in.

Supervisor, let's call her Jane, wraps up for the day and heads home. She walks in the house and shouts to her hubby, let's call him Billy Bob, and her teenage son Billy Bob Junior.

"I'M HOME!"

"Great Sweetie, how was your day?"

"A little strange. This man comes into the bank and wants to get into his deposit box. While I'm trying to get his name, the teller just keeps mumbling...Bronco...Bronco....Bronco.  I don'tget it. Why would you call a man a Bronco?"

"What was this man's name Jane?"

"Let's see honey, I think it was Rodney Smith!"

"ROD SMITH?"

"MOM?"

"What?"

"Rod Smith, best wide receiver in the whole world?  I'll bet  he was in there checking on his SuperBowl rings!"

"What's a SuperBowl, Junior?"

"Oh, I can't believe you. Did you at least get his autograph?"

"Well, I got his signature. Does that count?"

I don't think any of us should build our lives around sports hero worship. We shouldn't make fun of Jane for not knowing a sport and community icon. Even though she's been at that bank for 16 years, all of the years Rod's been a Bronco? Even though she  must have surfed the internet, read a newspaper, seen a billboard, watched a bus go by, watched a TV, looked at product endorsements in magazines?  Even though the man, Rod, lives in the same town, and owns a retaurant in the same town, where Jane works?

Let's forgive her. But I doubt Billy Bob or Billy Bob Jr. ever will.

"Yes, maam, that's spelled capital R little O little D, Smith. Would you like me to spell Smith?"

[ The teller, let's call him Jimmy Joe, doesn't make it to work for a week. He's got an infection from having R...O...D... tatooed on the palm of his hand.]

What the HILL?

You know how rapidly rabbits multiply? Well I find out today they've got nothing on Caterpillars in that arena.  Yesterday we had two Caterpillar Bullydozers in the backyard? Today we've got 19 of them, and the hill behind us?  Pretty much gone.

That purple looking mountain there in the background?  That's Pike's Peak, which actually inspired the words "Purple Mountains Majesty."

The irony here is that we've never seen Pike's Peak from our backyard before.

A little side note: I've noticed that there are some people who get behind the wheel of a big SUV?  They think they have superpowers, and we should all get out of their way? They don't.

But you know what? Men and women who drive Caterpillar Bullydozers?  After watching them up close and personal today?

DO NOT MESS WITH THEM!

 

Yucca Yanking

Bullydozer arrives very early today.  I guess I'm no longer an intimidation factor.   They probably did their homework and found out I'm a reTIRED journalist.

But the curiosities continue.  Bullydozer is running all over the place, pumping black smoke into the atmosphere.   But I see no result? He is not scraping away the topsoil? Looks to me like he is just wasting some very expensive fuel.

But alas, sometimes Bullydozer is quicker than the eye.  Some function hidden in his mass is actually yanking yuccas out of the ground. And then somehow he is finding someway to dump them in big piles along the fence line.  The things you learn.

One thing I learn is that when Bullydozer comes close? All the rabbits in the field run into your backyard.

I cover an execution up in Wyoming once?  Well the urban legend has it that when they broke ground for the prison we were at? The bullydozers unleashed more than a thousand rattlesnakes that slithered right into downtown Rawlins.

My neighbor Jerome is video taping the process here, and my other neighbor Todd is out explaining to his toddler Caleb why the green hill is turning brown before his eyes.

That may be one of the benefits of a project like this.  We may all get to know each other.  Of course there is always the chance that will NOT turn out to be a benefit.  But its all part of the adventure.

No Flax today.  We go out for breakfast and they don't have any.

We play some tennis. The mothers of two four year olds want to kick us off the court so their little darlings can take a lesson.  The pro comes along and introduces the moms to tennis ettiquette? They move over a court.

School starts next week.  That might be exciting.  But it will be tough to top watching yucca yanking.   Have a great day.

 

Well? What's next?

Don't know why, but all the heavy equipment digging up our open space just disappears.  Early in the morning, at the top of the hill? I espy a flatbed truck hauling what appears to be sewer conduit.   But that's it.  I'm pretty sure this isn't a holiday.

I'm sorry, but it's left me lean on words.

I do go on another fairly long bike ride? Only one MEAN "ON YOUR LEFTER" the whole way.  Can't say much about the ride either I guess.  

I do have dry cereral for breakfast which I spice up a little with a banana? You could care less?

Okay how about this then.  At the last minute I add some FLAX SEED to my bowl? That's new for me. Kind of exciting, eh?

Oh, just a warning. Your not supposed to add FLAX if your pregnant or have about a hundred other conditions.

"Never a dull moment."  That's what I say. 

The Bullydozer

Well, the BIG GUY, the earth mover, shows up in the backyard today? Let's face it. Sitting in the lotus position in front of THIS MONSTER isn't going to have much of an impact. He'd just make mulch of me. 

But you know what does have an impact?   A CAMERA. I put my monster lens on the minute I hear the roar?  I head out to the fence line pretending to be the journalist from hell. I know what I'm  doing.  I must be a journalist. Everybody in this neighborhood should be at work right now. ( I've done a lot of construction stories in my day. I've been escorted off much bigger construction sites than this one.  They're more aware of what you're doing than you'd think. And they really don't like "BAD PRESS." In fact they really don't like PRESS at all..at least not until it's done and they can have a ribbon cutting.)

Well I have witnesses to this.  On the BIG GUY'S initial scrape (taking off the top layer of ground) for the four lane road?  He does a quick turn around  RIGHT at our property line, and heads back the other way. Hey, I don't know.  Maybe that's  his plan. But it sure is odd.

Since I have a birdseye view of this whole operation I'm going to bore you with a semi regular log of "THE DEVELOPMENT."  I'll try to keep it short.

When they shut down for the day? I go up and step off the distance from the center line of the road to our property line?  103 feet unless my feet have shrunk.  I'm pretty sure they told us it would be 150 feet.  Think I'll check into that.

I just want to keep them HONEST.  Honest!

But it's kind of ego boosting to think I might be annoying them a bit at my age.

Good Fences

In poet Robert Frost's "Mending Wall?" His neighbor offers up...."Good fences make good neighbors."

Really?  I bring this up because our 16 year dalliance with open space appears to be up.  The coyotes, the llama, the antelope, the cattle,  the 13 lined ground squirrel, the rabbits, the hungry hawks and the occasional rattlesnake are destined for someone else's "SOUTH FORTY. "

How do I know that?  Because all this land behind us, that used to belong to the BLM?  It's about to give way to construction of a major thoroughfare, and high density development.  It's not that we didn't know it was coming. But it's still sad when you see the surveyors and the fence builders show up.

For your amusement, and certainly mine? I might have mentioned lately that I've kind of gotten back into meditation. If you keep it up? It just yanks stress right out of you. But I discover this morning that what takes away stress? It can also impose it!

In the early morning light I'm out on the deck in the modified "lotus position," just breathing deep.  While my eyes are closed I'm clearly aware of this roaring ATV pulling up behind a house two doors down.  I can FEEL the driver slamming on the breaks and hopping out. He loudly and brazenly starts BANGING a fence stake into the ground. You can SENSE the beast of the field scrambling for cover.  I think I'm hearing "John Henry," and not when he was a "little baby." 

Well, when he gets one door down?  And he sees me sitting there like the Dalai Lama?  (Peggy confirms he did see me)  All of a sudden "John Henry's" stake pounding takes on the characteristics of a seamstress.  He's clearly exchanged his sledge hammer for a tack hammer.  His gentle tapping is rhythmic and soul soothing.

And as he motors to the next position, he is practically in idle.

Well he sticks with the tack hammer and low RPM's for another two positions? Oh, sure, and then he once again becomes a "A Pile Drivin' Man." But what short term joy.

Another little piece of irony here.  After Robert Frost hears his neighbor say, "good fences make good neighbors?" His vivid thoughts reflect on fences. "Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it where there are cows?"

Well we've had cows here for 16 years? And very few fences. Sorry Bob, but we've been doing just fine without them, thanks.

But that's so negative.  I'm feeling good. All my life I've been told, "you can't stop progress." Maybe not stop it? But, as a lotus, you can sure play some mind games with those initiating it. 

"OOOOM!"

  

"Warts and All"

Look what I dislodged from it's home while edging the lawn!

[Quick Personal Note for SighleMacCaba: I am not bonding with a TOAD. And the only reason I'm welcoming the squirrel? Its my irrational hope it will chase away the rabbits. Urban myth, by the way, says rabbits like to get under cars and gnaw on brakelines. You might be better off with a squirrel.]

Anyway the little warted creature is less in length than the first segment of my index finger. I trap him to take his picture. Now don't go calling the SPCA.  I let him go unharmed although I think he's lookin' pretty good to the Robins in the neighborhood.

And you know what? This entry has nothing to do with the toad.  It's about firemen and edging the lawn.

I was sired and raised by a fireman, so I kinda of know of what I speak.  They are a meticulous lot.  Don't take my word for it.  Stop by the station sometime and watch them wax fire engines and floors, or hang up hoses to dry. As messy as their fire fighting can be? Go to the other extreme for the rest of their routine.

So? Well when you grow up with a fireman instructing you on proper lawn care?  You'd better neatly EDGE that "puppy."  That's especially true if your house is five doors down from the fire station.  You are not only talking neighborhood pride.  You are talking making grade for all the other firemen who drive by the house coming and going every other day.

You can get away with just about any kind of grass planted in a fireman's  yard. Trees and bushes and even flowers are optional. But? Had Hamlet said, " to edge or not to edge?" He would not have been contemplating suicide.    He'd be deciding whether or not to edge? Or change his name, and run as far away from home as he could get in 24 hours.  [firemen work 24 shifts]

So anyhow I'm living in the highest per capita income county in this state. [I'm sure my income is keeping it from being number one in the country.] And as I look up and down my street? Almost none of the lawns are edged? How odd.  It's been kind of nice for more than a decade not to live in fear that I might have forgotten to EDGE.  Home free, eh?

Not!  I'm at Lowes, Home Depot's alter ego.  I'm buying some thumb tacks or something and as I get in line at the register? The guy in front of me is buying an EDGER. I'm not talking one of those four stroke gas engine contraptions that violate every noise ordinance on the planet.  No, this is the old fashioned kind. For you youngsters? You just grab it with both hands like a shovel and give your lawn a shave along its' concrete edges. I think garden gloves were invented because of edgers.

So as I'm watching this guy meander towards his car, I am overwhelmed with guilt. I start seeing my Dad's intimidating scowl in  the clouds.  He is looking down on me:

"You don't edge? You YakHead. What you need is a good swift kick in the b__t."

[He never did it, but I was never comfortable that he wouldn't.]

So I march right back in to Lowes?

"You got any of those old fashioned EDGERS?"

With a sickening sinister sneer the clerk says, "yeah, right over there."

So I get it home with muted enthusiasm. I'm beginning to recall the feel of blisters on my palms and the creases between my thumbs and index fingers.  OOOW!

So I grab some garden gloves, guzzle some water, embrace the EDGER, and head for the front yard.

I can see front lawns for a block in each direction. Close scrutiny reveals only two yards have been carefully edged...two houses down to the South...( The guys a fireman, no ____T!) and three houses down to the North...don't know what that guy does.  One thing I'm pretty sure of? I'm the only guy in the neighborhood with a "HAND EDGER." I think the fireman's is nuclear powered.

Let me cut to the chase.  The grass is so thick and "hung over," it takes me two hours to manicure it's edges. I have a brand new 'STINGING" blister on my right palm.  It is in the low 90's and I am on my way to losing 8 pounds. [I see a best seller: Diet On The Edge. Lose Your Wasteline at a Blistering Pace.]

So will I edge next week?  I just remembered something else.

Doing stories on getting your home ready for sale? RULE NUMBER ONE: "Don't spend a lot of money upgrading your property if it sets it apart from the rest of the neighborhood. YOU WILL NEVER GET A FAIR RETURN ON YOUR INVESTMENT."

Hmmmmm!  Now if I can get the guy to the North of me to see the wisdom of rule number one? [there is no chance of getting the fireman to backoff.] Then maybe we can all stop trying to "LIVE ON THE EDGE."

"Dad? I'm going to bronze this EDGER and put your name on it. You must have some Pinochle game you need to get back to up there. I've got to get to work trying to save a HOMELESS TOAD."

Behold A Squirrel!

We have two Austrian Pines in the backyard. We planted them when we moved in so we know they are at least 16 years old.  And now we know they must age at the same rate as homosapiens. That's because their adolescence is over.  They've attracted their first SQUIRREL! 

Whenever I ask advice at a nursery or bird store? They invariably answer my question with a question.

"Well how mature is your backyard?"

Well now I finally have the answer.

"Old enough to attract a squirrel, don't ya know?"

It's appropriate that a squirrel shows up on this day.  Why? Well this is the day, once a year, I go see my cardiologist.  It's no big deal. I almost always get a clean bill of health.  But I wonder now what the tests will reveal. 

You see I get there about 10 minutes early? That's because I can never remember which floor he's on.  So I get that figured out and I'm feeling pretty good.  I casually saunter up to the third floor and begin my amble down the hallway to door# 350.  Just to make sure I pull out my reading glasses. With the glasses balanced on my ears I push forward until I can focus on his name.

"Yep, the right place. And I'm still 2 minutes early."

I reach for the portal knob and turn it? Well, actually I only attempt to turn it.  It's locked.

"Hmmm! Must be stuck in traffic."

So I'm waiting, and waiting...and decide that maybe my appointment is at 10:30, not 10:00 a.m.?  So to kill time I go down and borrow a pen from the pharmacist? I'll do a crossword puzzle.

Oh, and then I stop by the little canteen and get some coffee to drive up my heart rate.

Back upstairs I crouch in the hallway in the semi-lotus position. I'm right in front of door number 350.  I don't want to miss the doctors arrival. We'll have a good laugh about the traffic jam he got caught in.

Well, 10:30 comes along, and nothing? Whoa, I hope he's okay. I'd hate to have to find a new "Ticker Tinkerer."

Well it's 10:35 and time for action.  I call my primary care "doc" in the same building to see if I can get a phone number.  

Five minutes on hold....and I'm thinking this hearts going to be really cranking when he gets here.

Finally.

"Dr. Sherman's office. This is Charlotte."

"Charlotte, this is Paul. Is Doc okay? I have an appointment with him, and his door's locked."

"Where are you?"

"Outside your door at the Centennial office?"

"We only go there on Fridays. You know that."

"Do I need to come up to your other office then?"

"Let's see.  No.  Why don't you just show up right where you are on Friday, like you were supposed to.  You know, Friday, the 10th?"

"What time?"

"10 A.M."

"The 10th at 10. Hmm. Okay. See you then."   

I have no explanation except maybe that squirrel showing up for the first time. If you have a serious case of squirreliness? What specialty do they refer you to?

Nuts! Never mind.  I really don't want to know.

As I 'SPOKE,.....

So, its been a week! No excuses.....well maybe a few.  The Ings from New Zealand were in town...and they kidnapped us, and  made us play four hours of tennis every day. And you know how you are gripping the racquet all those hours? And how hard it is to type afterwords?

Anyhow, before and after the Ings I've been cycling. Yesterday I did 38 miles without blood doping...even though Peggy said I was a DOPE for going that far.  So here's some thoughts on cycling 38 miles.

When you are cycling for 38 miles? Start very early. Start early because if you are cycling 38 miles, all of those miles might not be in the morning.  Then as you are getting ready to pass someone on the bike path on the left?  You can't take the gentle approach and say, "good morning!"

"Good afternoon!" " Good night!"  Sorry, but not the same friendly connotation. They ring of scarcasm.  You might just as well say, "ON YOUR LEFT LADY!"

It's clear to me that if there is a cycling mixer going on in the neighborhood?  I'll not be invited.

I stop by the bike shop before heading out? They are having a sale on clothing? You may have already stopped by one of my HELMET protests. As long as I'm staying on bike paths? You'll see only my naked pate dripping with sweat.  My hair is no longer long enough to be blowing in the wind.

But anyway, the really good bargains? These padded shorts I imagine ease the pain of 38 miles on the trail "Pard!"  I look at them? I look at me in a mirror?  AT LEAST three more inches off my waistline before LYCRA lines MY LOINS. It'll be easy enough to pick me out of a crowd wthout a helmet.

But that's okay.  I'm not a loner.   I like the company of fellow life travelers. But I've also learned over time to not only accept, but enjoy time alone.  And I think that's important if you are going to do much cycling.  You are alone, and then not so alone. 

I don't have anybody riding next to me?  But I have two white tail deer cross my path. They are only about 10 feet away.

I've discovered that 38 miles for me is long enough to have endorphins kick in. And its probably good I'm experiencing this "cyclists high" sans other humanity.  "Oh, that it the most beautiful private reservoir in the WHOLE WORLD!"

I think it is actually a wastewater treatment pond.  But, hey, there'sa goose sitting in the middle of it? That's special isn't it?

How to wrap this up? Floyd Landis?  Just tell the committee  Endorphins look a lot like Synthetic Testosterone under a microscope. And if they don't buy that?

"ON YOUR LEFT YOU LUNKHEADS."

[lunkheads: If you're under 50 you'll need to look it up]